ROD - Chapter 115

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifteen – Veritas – Part Two

Given the recent developments, Project Torchbearer is a go… Begin the process, it needs to be up and running before the first gates in April.

-UWO classified memorandum-

Carl is stirring some kind of bubbling concoction using what looks like a mad scientist’s lab set that came from a hidden lever in the bookcase. The glasses he put on are so thick it requires a strap to hold them up, and makes his eyes fill the edges like a cartoon character.

“Should be ready in a few hours,” Carl says, pulling the finger thick glasses off his head.

Clayton nods then shifts uneasily, reaching for his daggers.

“Relax, it’s just Tina,” Carl says, pushing his smoking pipe into Clayton’s hands, “I told you I quit smoking, stop trying to tempt me, boy.”

Tina… I think he said that name earlier. A figure strides from beyond the veil of darkness in one of the halls. Skin that shimmers blue like tropical waters catches my eyes. Deep blue eyes that look like the ocean swallowed them peers out at us. It’s a woman, but I’m not quite sure what she is exactly, she has small horns that jut up from her head and curl toward the center. She looks roughly Carl’s age, late forties or early fifties, yet her skin still holds the beauty of her youth.

“Carl, why didn’t you tell me we had guests?” she asks, her voice is soft and almost majestic.

“Sorry, dear, didn’t want to wake you.”

Clayton looks over at his teacup, then back to Carl, “Tina as in… the fresh milk you were offering?”

“What? It’s organic,” Carl shrugs.

“What happened to the cow?” Clayton asks, putting down his second cup of tea and pushing it away.

Carl sighs, “Died a few years back, stop making milk well before that. Anyway, Tina’s been staying with me for…” he turns to her.

“Three years, love,” she says, bopping him on the nose. Her nightgown is elegant like something a queen of old times would wear.

“Right, well, she was a wet nurse in the Altarian hillsides of Jumar. We met while… well, we met. Been on and off again for many years.”

“Mostly on,” she says with a stern smile.

“Right, mostly on.”

She gives him a wry eye before looking at the three who are tied up, “Should I put a kettle on and make breakfast for them as well?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Carl nods, “Thank you, dear.”

“Perhaps some fresh clothes too, she looks…”

“Like a harpy?”

Tina nods then moves toward the stairs, she’s only gone for ten seconds before Carl snatches the pipe back from Clayton and drags deeply. The stairs creak and I see her eyes over the banister rail.

“Carl…”

He chokes on the smoke, clearing his throat, “I told you, Clayton, smoking is bad for you.”

He makes a show of dumping the ashes into the fireplace, her eyes narrow until he grumbles and deposits it in his coat.

“And Carl.”

“Yes, dear.”

“You said next time we have guests, you’d clear up the downstairs and do the outside.”

“Did I?” he says, shifting in his seat, “Doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

“Carl.”

He grunts, “Fine, I’ll see to it.”

“Good, breakfast will be ready shortly.”

Carl shakes his head after she leaves, “Always nagging about those chores. If I clean it up, the postman will start mucking about again. Next those damn estate agents will be asking if they can come in for tea and oh, how lovely this old place is, fancy a sell? No I don’t fancy a sell you stupid harpy…” he pauses, eyeing us watching his outburst, he clears his throat and is about to pull the pipe out again.

“Carl!” she yells up the stairs.

“Coming, dear!”

He grabs a handful of tobacco and puts it in his tin before motioning for us to follow, a steady stream of curses falls from his mouth as he moves.

We make our way downstairs and Tina gives him another wry bit of side eye. Carl nods to her and makes his way to the door, waving his wand to open it.

“You said something about waystones instead of broomsticks earlier, I gathered they’re a way to travel?” I ask as we move onto the estate grounds.

“The second fastest method, yes.”

I pause, watching him trace the wand to create glyphs in the air, “What’s the first?”

“Direct teleportation, obviously.”

“Is that a learnable skill or spell… or whatever?”

“Learning to teleport?” he raises an eyebrow, “Boyo, that’s high tier magic, you’d vaporize if you managed to complete the binding for it. No, it must be done with an imbued item and a power source.”

“And how does one get one of those?”

“Well, they’re not cheap. Soulstones never are.”

“Soulstones?”

Carl looks at Clayton, “Does he know nothing of our ways?”

Our ways? I look at Clayton.

“I uh, no, probably not a lot.”

“You didn’t think to teach him a spot of magic?”

“He’s not a natural mage, if he was, he would have already been automatically found by the order when he was a kid. Which as a reminder, uncle, it’s illegal to talk about this stuff still.”

“He’s a bloody healer boyo, use your head. Don’t talk to me about illegal, most of those uptight bastards all got stuck in the periphery when the stupid gates showed up. They’re locked out from Earth. Probably won’t accumulate enough mana to world hop for at least fifty more years. Specially after they destroyed the main waystone. Those damn boys never learn.”

“It was hardly their fault, and besides, they did save the world, remember?”

“Lotta good it did,” Carl huffs.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt but what’s healing got to do with it?”

Carl sighs, “Mana threading, healers use mana threading, mages also use mana threading, to an extent. Anyway, you should be able to do rudimentary true magic circuits with it.”

“True magic?”

“It’s not a term,” Clayton says with a sigh, “He just calls it that to differentiate System assisted magic.”

“Right… You don’t know anything about cultivation and boundaries do you?”

“What do you mean?” Carl asks, striking a match.

“Like refining your soul and making yourself stronger, so much so that you can manipulate matter around you and…”

Carl takes a long drag on his pipe, “What are you crazy? That’s mumbojumbo nonsense.”

Clayton shrugs. Guess they don’t know, seems like they know other useful stuff though.

“So, these magic circuits…”

“True magic,” Carl corrects.

“Just magic,” Clayton says with an eyeroll.

“True magic,” Carl puffs a plume at him.

“Well, it can’t be false magic if it’s magic, it wouldn’t make sense, old man.”

“It’s truer than that bullshit magic the System flaunts around, there’s no finesse in that System shit, no beauty just empty scribbles.”

“They’re both magic, I don’t know why I’m even arguing this point with you.”

“Neither do I,” Carl says waving his wand and making another six glyphs in the air around the trees.

“What do those mean?” I ask.

“These are complex arbor glyphs that will breathe life into these charred trees and make them regrow their bark. Those are stone polishers, those are grass cutters, em, those are,” he snaps his finger like he’s trying to remember.

“Ardena’s third rune set for matter restoration,” Clayton sighs.

Carl chuffs some smoke, “Nerd.”

“They have proper names, he’s trying to learn, don’t teach him your bullshit shorthand.”

“Well then you should have taught him,” Carl gripes, waving his wand again.

“He’s not a natural mage, there wasn’t anything to teach…” Clayton pauses, kicking a stone, “Besides, I never graduated from the university.”

“That’s because the system showed up before you could. And you were too busy trying to play with knives and chase after that damn girl, Yuki.”

“She goes by Zero now.”

“Don’t care, she’ll always be Yuki to me.”

Clayton frowns at him, “Anyway, I never had the full formal education. I don’t even have a wand anymore.”

Carl chokes on some smoke, “What?”

“I broke it on a mission.”

“Bloody hell man, why didn’t you come get another one?”

Clayton spins his daggers, “I didn’t need it. Besides, I was never good at shaping.”

“You didn’t try enough to know that,” Carl frowns.

“I did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

They both stare at each other before Carl turns and does a strange circular movement with his wand. All of the runes suddenly vibrate in the air and he traces lines that travel toward a central point in the house. As soon as they connect, I feel a sudden increase in the free mana in the air, like someone just turned a water faucet all the way on. It tingles against my skin.

“There, that should get her off my back,” Carl says with a squint as he snaps his wand in three precise movements.

Like fireflies in the night, the lines begin to glow and ripple in the low morning light, distorting things around them. The charred bark from trees falls to ash on the ground as fresh bark grows rapidly before drying and cracking unnaturally to replace the gaps. Grass sheers and becomes like mulch in the air, Carl whips his wand back and forth to disperse it at the base of the hedges. The lawn ornaments straighten and a fountain rights itself and starts spewing water from a stone dove’s mouth. The stonework on the house shifts as though someone has just pressure washed it. Windows appear cleaned and polished. Even the driveway looks like someone took a toothbrush to it.

Then suddenly, it all stops, as though it had never started, as though it wasn’t in a state of disrepair less than ten minutes ago. It is madness… it is beauty… and it is the font of a new set of ideas that permeate my thoughts.

This kind of magic is real… the possibilities, I need to know them, I need to feel them. How did Carl summon that much energy? Manastones in the house or is it something else? I need to learn everything I can from this strange man. In between his strange idiosyncrasies lies knowledge that I require.

“You missed a spot,” Clayton says, pointing to the overgrown shrubs around the front fence line.

“I like the privacy, piss off.”

“You could at least make it look tidy.”

Carl grumbles as his wand flicks back and forth trimming the hedges and shrubs.

***

The first floor is extremely clean and organized now that Carl has finished cleaning it. I’m still in awe of the versatility of the magic he weaved as they call it. When I asked him how the glyphs know how to do certain things, he said because thoughts can be imbued into them. Still trying to wrap my head around that and the implications of it.

We’re sitting around an old oak table with deep grooves in it, the dishes and cups look like heirlooms.

“So, where are you from…” Tina looks at me, waiting for me to finish with my name.

“I’m Jimmy, and I’m from district seven originally.”

“I’m still getting used to the districts here, Carl doesn’t like to get out much,” she smiles, pushing forward a plate of eggs, bacon, and breakfast beans.

“It’s the east coast of North America, dear, and we get out plenty.”

“Do we?” she asks, tilting her head at him, “I remember when I came here to stay with you permanently, you promised me endless paradise beaches.”

He groans, “Well, that was before all the waystones started acting up.”

“You never did finish telling me about waystones,” I say, digging into my breakfast, fucking hell it’s good. The bacon is that perfect level of crisp.

“Waystones are like transit stations,” Clayton says, taking a sip of tea, without milk this time I notice.

“They have them all over the world, just find a ley line and you’ll find one,” Carl adds.

“Ley lines?”

“Fuck’s sake, Clayton, at least give the boy a summary before you throw him in the fucking deep end.”

“Don’t swear at the table, Carl, it’s impolite,” Tina says, smacking him playfully with the hand towel she had tucked in her apron.

“Sorry, dear.”

Clayton sighs and says, “It’s like the world’s magic circuit lines. The way it was explained to me as a boy was like…”

Carl interrupts, “If the world is the heart of our magic, then the ley lines are the arteries which magic flows. Magic is more concentrated on them and you can pull from that, provided you know what you’re doing and have the proper set up.”

“This house… it’s on a ley line?” I ask.

Carl tilts his head, “How’d you reckon that?”

“Earlier when you used the runes, you connected them to something that made the mana in the air more saturated.”

Carl looks at Clayton, “You sure he’s not a natural mage… or maybe he’s a…”

Clayton shrugs, “He’s not a witch, old man.”

Carl squints at me for a few moments, he’s about to say something else, but he looks down at his wrist, pulling back his sleeve he peers closer at a watch of sorts. There are strange dials on it, one of them is glowing.

“It’s ready,” he says.

He must mean the potion he was working on earlier. Finally, time to get some answers.